


On the Other Side of the Screen

by Mun V (Vendetta_Panda)



Category: Welcome to the Game (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi, No Smut, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Welcome to the Game (Video Game) - Freeform, and my own interpretation and developments of them, blood mention, but there's romance and fluff in some of these, cannibalism mention, characters based heavily off of personal headcanon, child abuse mention, gore mention, lucas is a vampire at some point, mostly pulled from my rp blog, torture mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-09
Updated: 2019-11-09
Packaged: 2021-01-25 21:50:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 16,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21363217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vendetta_Panda/pseuds/Mun%20V
Summary: The dark side of the internet is home to some of the most twisted people to ever stalk the earth. Yet underneath their savage cruelty, they are still just that-- people. And people can lead very different private lives from the ones they demonstrate when they're at work. Even criminals such as these.(A collection of drabbles that were part of a challenge I started for writing all through the month of October, but never ended up finishing.)
Relationships: Amelea (Welcome to the Game)/OC, The Breather/Lucas Kumiega
Comments: 1
Kudos: 9





	1. Darkness (The Kidnapper)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dmitry is a master of stealth, but he's never let the shadows harden his heart.

Dancing in the shadows was something of an art. For such a large, hulking body to become so graceful and limber amongst the twitching blackness cast by mere silhouettes in the moonlight as he carried out his grizzly work, it was something akin to a ballad in his mind. Unsuspecting individuals who hid behind the glowing screens they fixated on, bright curtains separating them from their audience; they were his accompaniment in the dance. The stage that was set was always the same with only minute differences between the settings. An empty home, well-kept but well-neglected in the same breath. Nothing more than a blank canvas to his what was really going on behind the scenes. Like an elegant dancer, Dmitry crept over the floorboards. Careful feet guided him over creaking boards and around looming shelves that rattled with delicates that would create a cacophony of sounds from their orchestra of decorations at the slightest raise of a hand. Pirouetting around chairs and tables that any other shadow in the night may have deftly fallen to, he was as silent as the darkness he came from, and the darkness he retreated to once he’d claimed his target.

Through the blackest of nights when all light was obscured under the full moon and the clouds that banished the stars to their intergalactic hiding places, Dmitry’s form seemed to merge out of the darkness and slink across the street lights. It appeared in brief flashes, an inkblot moving across flickering yellow glows, for only a few seconds, before merging into the shadows. Unseen. Unheard. Truly, the kidnapper was gifted at what he did. Perfectly made to adopt the night as his disguise. He was one with the endless vastness of the darkness.

So many seemed to be aware of his lurking, yet none truly ever knew of his presence. None had ever glimpsed him. None had ever known he was there until it was too late. Knowing not where he came from or where he went, who he would ensnare in the strong arms of his shadowy figure or where he would take them if he caught them. When he caught them, All that could be offered by him was the warning of caution to each other, the watchful eye of maternal and paternal shepherds over their delicate flocks, ushered indoors by dusk to escape the jaws of the strange creature roaming about the edges of their sanctuaries, just out of sight- yet never out of mind.

But they were never the man’s target. He would never bring himself to harm a child. His heart throbbed at the very idea and sent such a shameful ache rattling within his bones that he would rear back with disgust, retreating into his shadowy comforts- tail between his legs in shame at the mere idea that anyone would consider him so low as that. No, he insisted to himself. And the shame turned to anger, and his anger into action. He targeted the exact opposite. Those who would not have a second thought about harming someone so young, so innocent. Those as cruel as the sea of darkness that he took refuge in, who had earned their place at the chopping block, yet always seemed to evade its cold stone grasp. Until he came along in the night to carry them off to their well-deserved execution. He basked in the darkness only because of the power it granted him to do what was right when no one else would. To correct the mistakes of those who refused to do it themselves.

And yet, even with the foul blackness that both threatened to swallow him and cowered back from him, his soul glowed purely. A beacon in the darkness. A lighthouse shining in a sea of dark waters. Perhaps that is what kept him from being tainted. Memories that burned brightly within him to keep focused on his goals, his motives. Memories that reminded him that he would never do unto others what was done to him, but to avenge those that he been hurt in the same way he and his loved ones had. Righteous, he would not call it so. Vengeful was too strong a word for him his tastebuds to hold- it burned them so to even consider it for a moment. But justified he considered it to be. Even if no one else could see eye to eye with him on said matters metaphorically or literally. It made little difference to him if the short term solution was costly, so long as it benefitted the world as a whole in the end.

And despite the cruelty of his actions and the malice his motions inherently exerted, Dmitry was far from corrupt or malevolent himself. He was nothing like the mask he wore suggested, nor anything like the darkness that so clung to him. His honest, kind heart had long been overshadowed by desperation. A need for work. A need to belong, and that led him to fall in line amongst others who did not align themselves with such ideals. Still, he only followed the shadows, and at such a distance as to avoid being led off the cliff the darkness so often tried to trick him into believing was farther than it actually was. He would not allow himself to grow careless and cruel as the others around him had allowed themselves to; sliding down the depth of depravity and malevolence to fulfill sadistic desires the shadows had told them they’d wanted, and they’d so stupidly believed. Though they might never be as good as him- so often they couldn’t even compare. He wondered if it was because of their lack of skill and practice in the art of shadow-dancing, or simply because of their lack of balance between duty and heart. In any case, the kidnapper digressed to follow his own path through the winding shadows. By the night, he was a man of the darkness: silent, deadly, all-enveloping and inescapable as the night.

But his heart would always stay in the warm sunlight of the day.


	2. Moonlight (The Breather)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael reminisces about the childhood he should have had but never got the chance to enjoy.

It wasn’t often Michael was able to catch a break for himself. Between his two jobs, his waking hours of the day so often kept him on his feet and his schedule void of free time. Indeed this showed both in his appearance and in his mannerisms. His focus was a mask he often used to distract others and himself- from what even he didn’t know, yet every now and then something would slip through to betray the underlying exhaustion and desire to give in. Give in to what, he was unsure of, but he could make guesses. And of course, he dared not breathe a word of his aches and pains and struggles to get by. It was the very last inch of his integrity, the privacy and feeling of security and control over his life he felt he had. For every other ounce of it had been destroyed. He’d been robbed of the sensations otherwise, to a point where he felt he had to keep all of his secrets to himself- even from the ones he cared about most. And it hurt. It hurt him to know that they trusted in him, came to him for support, and yet he could not bring himself to do the same and be open with them. His paranoia and his insecurity held him back.

Sprawled out on the rooftop of his home, Michael listened to the crickets singing into the light mist in the woods around the building. The calls of nocturnal birds were altos in the chorus of nature, wild animals sifting through the trees and undergrowth serving as basses and tenors for the melody that surrounded him. The star of the show stood high above it all, her stage of black a mere canvas for the twinkling background props of stars all around her. Under her light, Michael could only lay staring. He basked in the cool silvery glow of the moonlight, closing his eyes as he felt it engulf him, wash over him. And it felt so peaceful. He felt as though he was in familiar company finally; the moon was an old friend he had not spoken to in years, and even still she recognized him and acknowledged him with the warmest of smiles and bright twinkling eyes. Under her guiding light, he felt himself fall apart and relax, and he began to speak.

She had become his company. His comfort. During the darkest hours of his life she had shown her magnificent light down on him and listened to everything a poor boy had to say. Her nightly winds had brushed the trees from his face when he cried. Her nightly blooms had taken him by the hand and swept him away from the sources of his pain. He listened to the sound of her babbling brooks and followed their streams to calmer places. They’d sat in meadows and in trees and on house rooftops together, talking all night about what was and what would become of the scared little orphan boy. When he showed her his scars, she showed her his and comforted him with that stunning, radiant smile. She guided to see his reflection and himself not for what he was, but for what he could become. And even now, when he found he could not become the man she had led him to strive to be, she still welcomed him in her bright, comforting embrace.

The moon had been his only friend. In a way, Michael still considered her to be so. The great hunk of rock in the sky so many miles away from him knew him better than anyone else on earth did, and he’d often sobbed when he’d expressed as much. Terrible as he felt, he could not change that. Not as he was right now at least.

The little boy that had turned to the brilliant circle in the night sky was still buried somewhere deep within him. He couldn’t bear to let go, and so he held on so tightly. And the moon did him no favors by continuing to hold that little boy’s hand. Mike knew he could do nothing but wait and pray and hope for change. He was still very much a young boy- a young boy that had grown up so fast, but was still begging for time to slow down and wait for him. Wait for him, because he was quite ready to let go of the moon after having only her for so many years. He still had a lot of growing up to do, and he wasn’t exactly in the best place physically or mentally to handle it. And so, the Breather still clung to the night sky’s silver hands and allowed the to dry his tears, allowed pale ears to listen to his gripes, his passions, his fears, his terrors. He poured his heart out under the thick banners of moonlight, praying that like his God it would wash away his sins and leave him feeling pure, leave him with a clean enough soul that he could start over and be free. But alas, these were only the thoughts that rattled within his scrambled brain, and made him seem more like a lunatic than he already was. Yet foolish as it may have seemed, he persisted. By sheer desperation, he still clung to those pale slivers of hope.

Perhaps one day, Michael would be in a better place. Perhaps he would be stable, have a better job, have better health, live a better life. Maybe he would grow up finally, carry on with his life and recover with his heart intact. Maybe he would forget about those lonely nights where he rambled on between laughter and tears to his only friend smiling down at him from the sky up above. But as he sat in the glowing moonlight tonight, listening to the symphony of nature and staring into the pallid light of his friend up above, Michael knew the bitter truth of it all.

There was a good chance the moonlight would be his only comfort, forever.


	3. Autumn Colors (The Executioner)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fall has always brought about such lovely colors that Joseph adores.

When the air developed a cold nip to it and the winds began to pick up and rattle the trees, Joseph often sat himself by the windows and admired the dancing branches outside. The vibrant shades of red, orange, and gold were something to behold, even to he who could barely make out the different hues in one of his eyes. As summer turned to fall and the crisp scents began to swirl in the air around him, progressively he began to leave the comforts of the indoors and reclaim his favorite spot out on the back porch, sitting with his cats and watching the colorful leaves come raining down.

Fall was undoubtedly Joseph’s favorite season. Aside from the sweet smell of pumpkin spice coffee that seemed to linger in the air almost constantly, the whether was cool and soothing to his less responsive side. It blew about the colorful decorations of nature in a way that made him want to laugh and dance with the swirling, twirling leaves. Go running through the woods to feel truly at one with the world around him. But he knew better than anyone that with his coordination- or lack thereof, that he would probably end up falling and cracking his skull open or the like. It was better not to tempt fate. Besides, he had his own way of appreciating the shifting scenery around him.

On a particular crisp afternoon, the man took his usual seat at the back porch. Before him stood his familiar wooden easel. With a few scuffs and chips I the wood here in there, a few patches where it had been worn down from bumping and jostling, the great tool remained sturdy and continued to serve him just as well now as the day he first bought it so many years ago. Resting on it was a blank canvas with which to capture the imagery before him. Of course, he knew that he could spend an eternity with his paints and canvases and still never quite capture the colors of a truly beautiful fall such as this one. But he would try. With a palette full of colors in one hand and a brushed poised to act in the other, he began to paint.

The flurries of oranges and reds tumbling down around him went unnoticed, save for the occasional acknowledgement whenever he lifted his head to survey his surroundings and compare them to his work. Gold swept away by the winds traversed amongst their gentle currents before coming to rest at his feet. His cats, which had accompanied him in the outdoor excursion and had thus far been relaxing around his chair, took note of the wavering plant matter and began chasing the fallen yellows, sending them fluttering back up into the air with each graceful leap and pounce. Their bounding a playing was neglected in favor of a greater focus on the rustling trees around him. Several times, Joseph paused to tap the wooden end of his paintbrush against his masked chin, contemplating his next moves, before sending his paintbrush flying across the can as again.

This distant blue of the sky was quickly overtaken by sprawling trees that grew to reach maturity in a matter of moments. Their branches sprawled out above them, blossoming in vividly warm colors that over took the cool blue sky and the puffy clouds built up overhead. Below them, the earthy green floor of the Forest was over run by similar tones, darkened only by the shade provided overhead by their dangling brothers and sisters. Hours passed him by, his hands growing to adopt the same colors as those he smeared across his blank space, skin daring to try and capture the same warmth as the world around him. The sunlight receded slowly, and by the time Joseph had finished, only the last rays of sun were visible through the gaps in the trees.

He stared at his work, proud of how close he’d come to capturing the true beauty of the natural world before him. But it was not to be. Not yet at least. He could only stare at his work as it dried, recollections and memories trailing through his minds on flaking waves of focus. His thoughts rustled the delicate branches above him, ever-shifting and unable to pick one or another for him to recall in more clarity. Vague- as so often old memories were. But bits and pieces made themselves known to him.

Memories of raking the leaves in the backyard with his father, ignoring the scornful looks he received as he piled them up neatly before running to dive into them and sending the warm shades apart in a wild scatter effect. The familiar nights where he would take home leftover pumpkins from the local fair and sit on the porch with a carving knife and spoon, cutting them up and leaving wonderfully silly faces on them to make himself laugh and offer him a distraction from the yelling inside the house. The sounds of the crickets warbling in the rain as he sat on the wooden steps and breathed in the sweet free air of the world for the last time. The twinkling autumn stars that shone down on him through the narrow window up above him in the basement providing the only light for him to bandage his wounds and make his wishes. The further back he went the more clear it all seemed oddly enough.

As he shook himself from the thoughts, he realized that the last of the sun’s light had faded completely and night had completely overtaken the forest. Despite the cover of darkness that now engulfed the land, it still felt so peaceful. For once, he didn’t feel himself shudder at the eerie shadows that draped themselves so precariously over everything. For those tender autumn colors around him and in his hands provided him with a warmth so sting that Joseph was sure it would comfort throughout the coming season and forever more.


	4. Pumpkins (The Feds)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get slow around the FBI offices from time to time. It's the Feds' job to spice things up now and then.

It was far too common an occurrence that things slowed down around the offices, especially in their sector. While by night they had the mobility and intrigue of the van and its scanners to keep the lot of them occupied, by day the four FBI agents had little more than there full offices and the occasional email to each other to keep them from falling asleep at their desks. The cyber crimes unit didn’t really do anything special to commemorate the holiday. Unlike other sectors (and other jobs in Kate’s mind), they didn’t bother with decorating. They didn’t try to lighten the mood. Supposedly, it was because their higher-ups had collectively agreed that their job was too important and professional for the silliness of Halloween decorations, and any distractions could not be tolerated. According to Kate and her squad, the higher-ups needed to get the stick out of their asses and lighten up. Their orders wouldn’t stop them from making the most of the season.

On one lunch break, the three had decided to gather together in her office, dropping down the shades and unloading their duffel bags on the freshly cleared table of her office.

“Did everyone bring what they were told?” She threw a glance at the men over her shoulder as she locked her office door behind them.

The three nodded in unison. Luka reached into his bag and produced an armful of pumpkins, each varying in shape and size. “Got the gourds.”

From his bag, Jason carefully held up a collection of carving tools for the job, silently nodding towards his bags as he set them down. Finally came Percy. The one-legged agent dug around his bag for several minutes before finding the objects of his desires and revealing several small candles. Their scents varied but all were at least loosely tied to the theme of autumn.

“Perfect. Now that we’ve got everything together, let’s get carvin’.”

Huddled around the table, each member took their time gutting and carving into their pumpkins. Their styles varied wildly. Luka’s was of the cartoony quality while Jason’s seemed to lean towards semi-realism. Poor Percy seemed to be struggling to keep a grasp on his blade at all, the utensil getting stuck in his pumpkin’s thick skin regularly and leaving him to struggle to pull it out. Kate would often break from her own carving routine to help her companion, getting him back on the steady course of chopping an expression into his project once more. Her own attempt left much to be desired, her carved face looking more like the simple butchering of an innocent plant. But all the same, the premise was more important than the product. Before the hour was done, the team had carved at least three pumpkins each. Another hour would be spent skulking about the office and setting the pumpkins in place on desks and in the corners, before putting in their candles and lighting them. They had to wait for their coworkers to file out for lunch themselves, but the wait was well worth the end product.

Undoubtedly, the four knew they would be reprimanded for a blatant violation of protocol. But the protocol was stupid, and frankly, it hadn’t interrupted their work. Their reports for the day still got done. They didn’t slack or fall behind when it came to their schedules. Their coworkers barely cast the decorations a second glance and certainly no one complained about the pleasant scents now wafting through the corridors. Things only seemed to be on the up and up all things considered. Annoying as it would be, they’d only get a slap on the wrist and then warned not to do it again. And of course, they’d more than likely ignore that warning in favor of something even more flamboyant and garish. It was almost a cycle when it came to them, and their higher-ups were well aware of the fact.

So it came as a bit of a surprise when the day passed and they congregated at their favorite coffee place downtown, swapping stories about how each individual’s day went without any mention of a call to their overseer’s office or a scolding of any kind. They shared a laugh over it all, finding amusement in how accustomed to their behavior the rest of the staff was. Some found it annoying, others more amusing; it was a way they seemed to lift the atmosphere of otherwise droning, uninteresting workplace that amused so many. And they could afford to do so. They were the top squadron in their branch, raking in more deep web criminals a night than any other coordinated group. The occasional act of civil disobedience could go tolerated by their higher-ups so long as their behavior was good overall and they didn’t stagger in their performance in the field. And it would because they would never allow it to.

Still though, they found it quite funny how passively everyone seemed to approach such an unfamiliar situation. And in a top-secret facility like theirs nonetheless. They had expected pandemonium to ensue upon the discovery, but not so much as a second glance was spared towards their little designs. They squad joked that it must have been on account of their giggling as they walked by everyone observing their gifts for the office. In any case, the team shared a good laugh about the whole incident and spent their brief few hours of rest and recuperation having a few drinks and snacks before they’d have to inevitably crawl into their van and spend another late night graveyard shift patrolling the streets for potentially heinous persons snooping about on the darkest recesses of the Internet. Still, it wasn’t all bad they supposed. They had a rather enjoyable and easy day at work, no trouble or mayhem caused for once.

Who knew that a few pumpkins could brighten up the office as much as it had brightened up their day?


	5. Bats (Vampire Lucas)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucas is a vampire with a love for bats.

At what point in history his kind had become so heavily associated with the adorable flying mammals of the night was unclear to Lucas. It eluded his thought process. But all the same, he adored the haunting counterparts as much as he envied them. On occasion, he wished that his subspecies had the bat gene amongst them, the ability to soar off into the night amongst the creatures linked to them so strongly. Alas, the most he could do was glide as they did with his cape. Still, it felt liberating to be amongst the heavy clouds of night, soaring just above swaddling vapor tufts and bathed in tender moonlight as he soared along with the hungry creatures, searching for their fruit or insects or prime animals in which to prey upon for their sweet blood.

It wasn’t uncommon for the hitman to find huddles of them gathered under the eaves of his home, dangling there for shelter and resting until the night came. On more than one occasion, the night would have already come by the time he had the chance to get out, and still, he would find the flock hanging there staring intently at him with their beady intelligent eyes. As though they were waiting for him. As though they would not leave without him. Given how few connections he had, the small gesture on the part of such critters was more than appreciated, and the vampire would often take to the skies with them. Indeed his love for bats was strong, and their love for him just as powerful. But of course, they had their differences. Lucas was forced to falter upon coming across running water. Mountainous regions of the world were off-limits to him, as the ashes that peeled off the craggy surfaces were a strong deterrent to him. Natural barriers forced him to break away from the flock so often, yet they would always regroup where they had separated to head back home. It was a humble existence.

Some nights, the vampire would stay home and invite the flock into his residence. Opening up the attic window and allowing them to flutter in and rest amongst the rafters was as pleasant as a vampire could expect. Leaning on the windowsill and listening to the sweet songs of the wolves far beyond his home, watching the pale moon as she shown her light down over the land; Lucas would hold a finger out for a bat to perch onto, offering them spoonfuls of blood from his collection of stolen bags from hospitals and fresh fruit he’d plucked earlier in the season. His gestures did not go unappreciated. The bats were more than eager to swarm him, clinging to his clothing and covering him as they squeaked and chirped. And Lucas enjoyed the dozens of hugs he received from his companions, even if his dogs often whimpered in irritation at all the noise.

Bats truly were important to a vampire like him. With so few of his kind- let alone his subspecies left in the world, he took comfort in whatever small pleasures he could. In this case, a vestige of a bygone age which allowed him to mingle comfortably with a fellow creature of the night that preyed upon the blood of the unsuspecting. And he was happy with his life just as it was. As much as he would have appreciated the company of another vampire from time to time, he refrained from raising his hopes at the thought. He would just have to be satisfied with what he had, and he was.

Even still, every night Lucas would wait by the window, peering out into the night which overtook the countryside. The silvery moonlight will illuminate fields of grass and distant forests. In the background his old record player would run over an old vinyl, humming out the muffled tune of some childhood classics from downstairs while the sound of crickets and a colony of bats warbled around him at closer proximity. A cup of tea would rest in his hands as he sat in his satin button-up, trousers, and glamorous coat, watching the silent stars go by. A yearning would linger in his chest, throb at his cold heart. The desire to find someone like him, who understood him, the desire to see a familiar set of fangs that might have matched his own are at him. The bats would cling to his back after having eaten their fill as if trying to comfort and reassure him that he was happy in his loneliness. But even with the dozens of tiny creatures latched onto him and showing him their fondest love for him and all he did, a part of the vampire would always feel incomplete. It always had. It always did. A hand would fall over his chest, before curling around the cross at his neck, clutching it as he wondered how long that hole had been there when it had come to be a hollow part of him.

And after his hand had slid down and returned to his side, a bat would chirp in his ear as if to ask him if they would go flying or not. Some nights he wouldn’t. But some nights he would, and as he leaped from his open window and raised himself off into the night with his flock, Lucas would feel the cool breeze against his face, the wind rushing through his hair and smoothly gliding over his coat as he took to the sky with his great colony in tow. He would feel the cold night and hear the flaps of his bats behind him and remember that his freedom was his greatest comfort, his eternal life sold to the world he inhabited and the four corners of it he had forever to explore. And explore it he would, even if it was a never-ending journey. He would see it all one day.

And he would make sure his bats were with him to see it too.


	6. Warm Drinks (Amalea and Marcella)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Home is where your girlfriend and hot chocolate are, even when the world has ended. 
> 
> (Amalea is simplytheo's OC.)

Around this time of year, Amalea could have expected to look out her window and see various shades of orange and red swirling around the city. The smell of pumpkin would be thick on the wind. Signs would showcase clearance sales on costumes and party decor would be everywhere. Bats and vampires as werewolves and zombies would decorate every shop window, spooky reruns of old cartoons and shows would play on the television and fitting music would echo within her apartment as the morning passed. But this year was different. Instead, Amalea could only sit on her balcony and watch the streets below her. They were so barren, so void of life. The wild plants had begun to reclaim many of the stone structures without any gardeners and their tools around to hold them back. No signs went up. No music played. The television stations weren’t online. Indeed all Amalea could do was watch as what was left of the world was slowly reclaimed by nature. It was a slow process, but with every day, she noticed new expansion, new milestones in the progress. The behavior she exhibited, wistfully staring off into the distance so often, did not go unnoticed. Though she refrained from making any comments, Marcella noticed the frequency with which Amalea proceeded to go outside and stare the world. One day, she followed her outside and leaned against the railing beside her.

“You certainly seem to enjoy coming out here and staring at things.” She nudged at the other woman.

“Yeah, sorry…” she replied, lowering her head before turning to look at the other skyscrapers nearby. “It’s just that… well, I guess I’m still in shock. I just can’t believe it’s over. Everyone’s gone, and we don’t even know where they could be. It feels like one day everything was fine- life was normal and everything was okay, and then the next, it all suddenly just.., stopped. A split second and everyone disappeared. How does that happen?”

She raised her head to look at Marcella, genuinely distraught by the idea. “How do people just… just disappear like that? And how do we know when it’ll happen again?”

The question prompted Marcella to come forward to gather her partner up in a firm hug. Amalea took a moment before hesitantly holding onto her rather lightly. If only took a moment for the tears to begin blooming on her lashes and prompting her to squeeze Marcela not her arms, desperately trying to keep a hold on her for fear that she might disappear if she flattered even slightly in her grasp. She buried her face in her shoulder, trying to stifle the sobs bubbling up in her chest as Mars gently combed her fingers through Amalea’s thick black strands. She was at a loss for words, unsure if she should speak and what exactly to say.

“I don’t know what life for you was like before all this happened, Amalea,” she started, wincing faintly at how cold it must have sounded coming from her and pressing on with an attempt at a warmer, hushed tone. “I cannot tell you what happened, I cannot tell you if things will ever be the same again. But I can tell you that no matter what lies ahead from this point on, there is nothing that will separate us. No matter what happens, understand this: nothing will get between us.”

It took the young woman a moment to collect herself and stop trembling from the anxiety culminating with her from her own thoughts. She mumbled a soft word of thanks and the blonde nodded, kissing her temporal gently and caressing her back in soothing circles.

“Why don’t you come back inside? I have something that might make you feel better.”

Finally, Amalea pulled away and wiped at her tears, narrowly avoiding smudging her makeup and nodding as she offered a bittersweet smile and agreed. Marcella led her back inside and to the kitchen. The smells of warm spices and candle wax were thick in the air, and the former soldier led her lover over to the counter to exhibit a little project she’d been working on for the past hour or so. Amalea covered her mouth and gasped at the sight. Two steaming mugs of hot cocoa and marshmallows sat neatly on a tray.

“You made us hot chocolate?” Amalea glanced at her girlfriend, taken back by the sweet gesture. Marcella puffer her chest out a bit proudly, tipping her head back a slight.

“Well, you’ve had quite the influence on me it would seem. I thought I would show my gratitude by trying something new on my own. Just for you.” She grinned, lifting her mug from where it sat waiting patiently for them. “Shall we?”

Amalea giggles and picked up her own mug, lightly clinking it with her lover’s before raising it to her lips. A short blow against the swirling deep brows of the drinks and she took a sip, purring at how good it tasted. “You did really well for the first attempt on your own. It tastes great!”

“Not as sweet as you.~” she leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to Amalea’s cheek, to which the smaller lady attempted to stifle another giggle and kept her gaze directed down towards her drink.

It seemed to strange how one day, life as she knew had suddenly stopped. All the people she knew had disappeared. The world was exponentially different now, and even months after the dramatic shift Amalea was still having a difficult time adapting. Yet with change came hope it seemed. If things had never ended, she never would have met Marcella. They wouldn’t have this life together that they did. It was far from perfect, sure, but they were making the best of their situation. They were happy. They were happy to be together, to have each other, to have as much as they did and to be content with it all. Bonding over warm drinks and music and the quiet world like they did now. It made the whole situation just a bit less frightening.

Perhaps change wasn’t always a bad thing.


	7. Baked Goods (The Kidnapper)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dmitry does all the cooking in the house. The others have come to rely on him so heavily for treats that he decides to use the opportunity to play a trick on them.

Not a day went by that the Red Room Team’s “hideout” didn’t smell of some type of freshly baked good. And they had Dmitry to thank for that. Baking was a craft that the Russian was devoted to. Cooking in general was a special talent of his that he’d spent his entire lifetime perfecting. Having been sent away at a young age, Dmitry grew up with his grandmother who had relocated to Germany. From the moment he’d stepped into her kitchen for the very first time, he learned that food was an art. Her introduction of him to it became a passion he planned on culminating into something wonderful over the course of a lifetime. Of course, life didn’t exactly go as planned.

Despite the horrors of war he’d been forced to witness and partake in, and despite the falling out he’d endured with his predetermined and now estranged wife, the titan’s heart remained soft. Baking had been an escape that reminded him that even when a recipe was not followed, it could be salvaged and turned into something wonderful. He refused to let himself become subpar just because things hadn’t gone the way he planned. It simply wasn’t in his nature for him to become so embittered when he could have put more effort into being sweet and making a difference. And had it not been for the circumstances surrounding his current occupation, Dmitry was certain he would have gone off and started his own bakery and made a name for himself.

In any case, he digressed. His current situation was nothing to complain about. While it required him to often go off and hunt down the lowest of the low, and while he never would have wished to harm another individual, it was somewhat satisfying and granted him peace of mind to know the people he so often took were criminals who were far less mild-mannered than he. Criminally so. And even still, the work offered him a good profit, still allowed him plenty of time to indulge in his own hobbies, and had brought with it some long-lasting and meaningful friends who he wouldn’t have traded for the world. Perhaps life hadn’t gone exactly as planned, but Dmitry had still found some semblance of joy for himself in the end.

The sweet aromas of cinnamon and sugar danced in the air as Dmitry leaned down to pull a cake out of the oven. Rather than a traditional pie, he’d decided to try and get experimental and make a pumpkin cake with a sweet berry filling. All that was left to do now was ice it. Yet it seemed that just within the cake’s first few minutes of existence, it had garnered the attention of the other two residents of the house. Michael immediately dove for the delicious dessert, only for Dmitry to grip his hoodie and pull him back. In a similar manner, Joseph rushed forward, almost tripping over a chair that had been pulled out without being pushed back in, and was briskly caught by the careful and quick arm of his much taller friend.

“Now boys, the cake isn’t finished yet. I still have to frost it and add the decorations.” He scolded and set the two back so they were standing upright on their feet correctly.

“What does it matter? We’re going to eat all of it either way, we’re just getting a headstart now!” Michael moved to rush past him again and Dim stopped him once more, leaning down.

“I’ll tell you: because I’ve been meaning to experiment with a new type of frosting and thought it would be best used on something special like this cake. So I would sincerely appreciate it if you two could at least wait until after dinner to dig into it so I can finish. Understood?” It was less of a request and more of a response akin to something a father would say to his two rowdy toddlers. At times, there really wasn’t much of a difference. Dmitry was often the father figure and his friends, two excitable and sometimes unnervingly impulsive children. Despite this, the two seemed to hold some modicum of compassion and understanding, or at least tolerance for his baking shenanigans. It was the least they could do for the man that fed them.

All afternoon, the Russian spent his time carefully icing the cake to look like an ornate jack-o’-lantern. Wild vines spiraled out of its top, a wicked grin overtook its features, leaves and edible glitter decorated the plate around it. Truly, it looked like a proper treat for the season. Between managing lunch and dinner for the two other busy-bodies, Dmitry spent his time carefully sculpting the design for the cake, wanting it to be perfect for the two other ravenous mouths that would undoubtedly devour it like ferocious animals. Regularly, he would see prying eyes peering into the kitchen to check on the progress of the great and attempt to sneak by him and get a taste. He managed to ward off the invasive looks and hands until dinner. Watching the two other men attempt to inhale their meals in anticipation of the cake was amusing at best and worrying at most. But nonetheless, supper passed without much incident.

The two men sat chanting and banging on the table as Dmitry took their dishes to the kitchen to be washed and brought out clean platters for them. Then he disappeared once more, only to return to ecstatic cheering at the sight of the most decorative dessert. Both were blown away by the amount of detail paid to the cake and applauded Dmitry’s efforts, even showing a bit of hesitance to eat it. In the end, watching the knife glide through the frosted surface and seeing him proffer them each a piece was simply too tempting to resist. It was too good to be true! In a similar vein, so we’re the expressions he saw on their faces as they took a heaping bite of the cake and ended up with a mouthful of salt-rich frosting. Both immediately froze and looked at each other, then to their towering friend. He managed a warm beaming smile to coverup his overwhelming desire to laugh at their misfortune.

“It looks like I’ve put the trick in ‘trick or treat’, da?”


	8. Movie Night (The Red Room Team)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone's in for the evening and they've decided to spend it together watching a movie.

Free time was such a rare occurrence amongst the three men in their line of work. If Michael wasn’t spending his nights at Adam’s complex or his days in the hospital, then he was certainly out and about on a hunt of his own to settle the craving for blood that gnawed at him from the back of his mind. When Joseph wasn’t busy preparing and carrying out his gruesome shows, the hunt was on for new targets to secure in his waiting rooms until the next show, and examinations of his tools of the trade often meant that replacements would need to be ordered in from time to time. Using tools on the human body so often meant that replacing his equipment of sorts was a common occurrence. And a pricey one at that. As for Dmitry, work didn’t take up too much of his time. He only occasionally went out, checked their digital traps, collected the sick targets that fell for them, and fetched them for Joe’s equally revolting show. That in itself expended little effort. Even the stalking and kidnapping took up little of his time. Most of his schedule was dedicated to the housekeeping he did for his two comrades. Without them around, Dmitry tended to the cleaning and keeping of their residence all on his own.

It was so rare for the three to find days and nights where their schedules finally synced up and allowed them the opportunity to spend time together. But tonight was one of those nights, and after a long week of toiling and backbreaking labor, the three had decided to make something of an event out of it. Dmitry had prepared a spread for them consisting of popcorn and various baked good. Cheesecake bites for Joseph, chocolate brownie batter for Mike, and lemon blueberry cake for himself, as well as a plethora of cookie options for the lot of them to pick from. Michael had been tasked with making things cozy. He tidied up what little had to be sorted out and fetched some warm blankets and pillows for them to sprawl themselves on. The pullout bed of the couch had more than enough space for the lot of them to take up. Finally, Joseph has been on movie duty. Picking up a good film was no challenge at all for him. He was a seasoned watcher and had no issues picking up something classic but enjoyable.

“Night of the Living Dead?” Michael glanced at him from across Dmitry. Joseph sat up to meet his gaze, both brows perked as he proffered a wide grin.

“It’s a great classic. Kinda old but… hey, you can’t deny that was some scary stuff when you watched it as a kid.” The American laughed, whole body rocking and shoulders shaking with the sounds as he sat back again. Mike snickered, finding it someone contagious. Dmitry hushed the two, solidly focused on the film and rapidly shoving chunks of his cake into his mouth as the beginning scene opened.

The black and white film cast an eerie pale blue glow over the unlit room and its inhabitants. It was chillingly quiet, save for the static voices of the characters on screen and the sound of the occasional jingle in a distant room as Joe’s cats and Mike’s dog moved around. The feeling of something brushing against his leg startled Dmitry and caused him to jump. The two other men spooked, and when the giant looked down, he saw that it was not, in fact, a reanimated corpse’s hand creeping up his leg with the intent of dragging him into the earth and devouring him, but one of Joseph’s cats whole he’d failed to notice had joined the trio and was currently rubbing up against his leg to get comfortable. If meowed quizzically up at him, tilting its head and blinking slowly. The Russian gave a soft chuckle, unsure of what he was being so tense for. He’d seen and endured much worse than the likes of this! It was the suspense, he supposed. The way the film kept the viewers on their toes the same way the protagonists always were. It was fascinating really.

As the images flickered on and off the screen, the snacks began to disappear from the table. Michael had consumed most of it by the end of the film, leaving only a few morsels and crumbs behind in the wake of his binge. Joseph was leaned entirely against Dmitry’s arm, snoring softly as his furry pets curled up upon him, purring like small engines. At what point of the film he’d been lost the other two were unsure, but he looked far too at peace to be moved. And so Michael, being the slenderest and most coherent, had decided to clean up. He moved the dishes to the sink to be taken care of in the morning while Dmitry turned off the television and wiggled down into the pullout bed with Joseph. The man scooted closer and curled into his much larger companion, mumbling in his sleep. The felines readjusted themselves on him as their owner was nestled into a more comfortable position. When Michael returned, he slipped under the covers and clung to Dmitry’s other side, graciously accepting the mass amount of heat the kidnapper generated, as he struggled to create his own. Ever gentle, the bigger male was sure to cover his companions well with the sheets and happily drew them in close to be cuddled. The two of them that were still barely conscious uttered a soft goodnight to one another, before settling down completely for the evening.

It seemed so strange and yet so wonderful how the world seemed to work things out. The three of them finding a rare moment where the stars aligned and allowed them a grace period where they could spend time together and act like the close friends they were to each other. And to think that not too long ago, there were all complete strangers. And now? Now nothing could tear them apart. Especially after a good movie night like this.


	9. Scary Story (The Breather)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael gives Joe a scare with a story that's been passed down by his family for generations.

“That’s not all that scary.” The Breather leaned back in his chair until only two legs of it balanced on the ground, legs kicked up on the kitchen table. Dmitry glanced back at the scene unfolding behind him as he washed the dishes and lightly tutted Michael.

“Michael, could you please not do that? You’re going to get hurt.”

The warning went disregarded as the killer smirked across the table to the Executioner. Joseph scoffed and crossed his arms as he sat back. “Oh yeah? Well, I’d like to see you come up with a scary story of your own.”

“I don’t need to come up with a scary story. My ancestors have got me covered—” the Breather gasped as he leaned too far back, the chair legs squealing horribly against the tile floor of the kitchen and sent the scrawny man flat on his back. The sound caused Dmitry to turn sharply, only to grown and shake his head in disappointment before turning back to the plates at hand.

The Breather nudged the chair back up into the correct position and threw an arm over the edge of the surface and onto the table, peering over as he got up again and sat back down. Scooting forward, he offered a coy look. Hairless eyebrows raised and his hands folded together. “I don’t suppose you’ve heard of the tale of La Llorona, have you?”

Joseph raised a brow, offering his friend an incredulous look. Arms still crossed, he gave a response already dripping with skepticism. “No?”

“Oh, well then let me recount to you a real scary story.” The faux doctor cleared his throat.

“Our story begins in a quiet and peaceful little town in Mexico, where it is said that a woman lived. A woman of exquisite, extraordinary beauty. She was so fine that the townspeople claimed it was a gift from God himself. Well, word of her incredible beauty spread far and wide and one day, a strapping young man came to the village the hand of the beautiful woman: Maria. Maria was flattered by his proposal and she had agreed to marry the man, for she found him very handsome and her kind heart told her that he would make a fine husband. As the years went by, the couple lived in happiness and harmony. They had two young boys. Maria’s husband was a soldier though, so he often had to travel far from home for long periods of time. Despite this, he was nothing but devoted to his family. Each time he came home, he spoiled his wife and his children with gifts.”

Each word was accompanied by a motion of Michael’s hands, waving and twirling, fingers dancing in the air as if to create a palpable picture of what was happening. He had a tendency to do that. Talking with his hands was a sort of a trademark to the killer. He glanced to Joe, grinning as he realized that he had indeed gotten the American’s attention. He was leaned forward, eyes wide as he drank in every detail of the tale, fingers curled around the edge of the table and nails digging slightly into the wood. So far so good.

“But as time went on,” Mike continued, “he visited less and less. His stays grew shorter and shorter. And slowly but surely, he began giving more attention to his children than his wife, until he all but ignored her on his brief visits back. And finally, there came a time when he didn’t return.”

Joseph shivered visibly and leaned over the table. “Then what happened?”

“Well, for the longest while, Maria was worried that her husband no longer loved her. She feared that, as time had taken her beauty, her husband had taken back his love. But her kind heart wanted to believe that he was better than that and that their marriage meant more to him than something so superficial. She didn’t want to think he would cheat on her. So one day, she went walking about by the local river with her two young boys, and imagine her surprise when she saw her husband in a carriage with another woman.”

“He did not-” Joseph slammed his fist into the wood, completely shocked by the turn of events.

“He did! And in a rage, Maria took her two young boys by the arms and flung them into the racing waters of the rivers. But of course, being so young, they did not know how to swim, and they inevitably drowned. Lost to the currents forever.” He sat back, watching Joseph’s face contort in sheer horror beneath his mask. “Only when their pitiful cries to be rescued stopped did she emerge from her wrathful state and come to realize what she had done. And when she saw their lifeless bodies floating in the water, Maria broke down and sobbed in anguish at the realization of what she had done.”

“Well, I sure fuckin’ hope so.” Joseph pouted, throwing himself back in his chair. Mike shrugged and chuckled, pressing on.

“For her crime, Maria was hung-”

“As she should be-”

“But there is a legend that she still walks the earth.” That line caused Joe’s interruptive commentary to briefly pause. He gave Mike a suspicious look, silently asking him to continue.

“Caught between heaven and hell for committing the worst of all sins, Maria is said to walk the earth, forever searching for his lost boys. In the night, her weeping and cries can be heard as she follows the river, looking for her lost children. She attacks any man she sees with a vicious fury. But it is warned that children must be especially careful, for she has been known to mistake lost little souls for her own, and upon coming to realize her mistake, she shows no hesitation in flinging them into the river so that they may suffer the same fate as her two young boys.”

Joseph shuddered at the thought, drawing back as Mike leaned forward, a malicious twinkle in his freakishly large brown eyes. “But you know what the scariest part is?”

“What’s the scariest part?” Joe mumbled, clearly nervous about the whole tension building up between them.

“No one knows how far the river stretches, and no one knows how far she has followed it or will follow it. She could have just followed it so long as it flowed in Mexico. But… she also could have followed it. All the way to these very woods. Where she… could… GET YOU!”

As soon as the words were out, two large hands clamped down on Joseph’s shoulders and the man let out a shriek. His brief struggle was short-lived as he looked up to see Dmitry leaning over him with a playful grin. After he’d finished watching dishes, he’d quietly slipped away behind the American while he was distracted, awaiting the perfect opportunity to scare him. And he did just that. He released the Executioner, sharing a good laugh with Michael over the scare while Joseph sulked over the ordeal.

It seemed like Mike had some scary stories after all.


	10. Candy (The Butcher)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bob hasn't eaten candy since he was a boy. Now he's beginning to have a change of heart after so long.

So often Bob was known for indulging in the more uncanny delicacies life had to offer. Rich with iron and holding a tender, soft texture to it. It was the most common craving he had, and given his occupation as a butcher, suffice to say it made sense. The leans cuts of poultry, pork, veal, and beef held no candles in comparison to the humble meat of the modern man. The rarest of all dishes that he so loved to indulge in, so elusive and so difficult to procure for his own indulgence.

Even so, and rare as it was, Robert’s innate sense of taste did have the occasional craving for something more conventional. Around the autumn season, bargains planted themselves within his subconscious mind; bright flashy sales signs and the thematic seasonal advertising that he often ignored yet which somehow made a nest for itself in the greater depths of his brain. Mouth would water for seemingly no reason at the sight of sugar. Days would pass where his mind could only focus on butterscotch, caramel, and cream, rich Swiss chocolate drizzled over waffles or thick squares broken off of giant bars that would take two hands to hold onto. Candy became his primary obsession. His sweet tooth would practically ache at the thought of it, and no matter how much he tried to focus on it, his hands would move on autopilot while his mind traveled deep into a world full sugary delight. A Willy Wonka Wonderland of sweets he had not tasted since what felt like childhood.

He didn’t like to indulge the idea, but this year, he thought he might change things up a bit. It had been such a long time since he’d tasted something as sweet as a Hershey’s kiss or peanut butter cup. His business kept him busy and his taste buds were now infinitely more acquainted with spices and the different tangs of meats and their broths. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to focus on or properly enjoy a candy if he picked one up. The threat over overstimulation was certainly present. But nonetheless, Robert was not one to so easily back down from a challenge. He was curious and eager, and it was this combination of overwhelming impulsiveness that led him to drive by the nearest dollar store and grab himself several bags containing various types of sweets. If nothing else, he could dump it in a bowl and leave it outside his shop to be collected by trick-or-treaters at the end of the season. But the man was genuinely curious. After having gone the better portion of his life with no real candy to speak of, he wanted to see if it was something truly worth incorporating into his life again.

Sitting down with the bag placed in front of him, Robert could only muster the energy to stare at it for a good while, as if processing what he was doing as some perilous task of which there would be no returning from once he saw it through. He huffed, thinking himself silly for taking something so small and so insignificant as candy so seriously. Reaching down, strong hands pulled open the bag with an almost nostalgic crinkling of plastic. Under his strength, it crumbled and ripped apart easily, individually wrapped sweets spilling onto the table before him. Discarding the half-empty bag somewhere away from the pile, the Butcher sorted through the different types, first neatly organizing them into unique piles, then plucking one from each and carefully unwrapping them one by one. Chocolate, caramel, mint, nougat, wafers. There were a variety of different components that varied between the treats. And one by one, Robert tested them all.

A sense of childhood wonder seemed to wash over him in a great wave, starting at his mouth and enveloping his entire body in a matter of seconds. Brain flittered through recollections of time spent with his parents before things had gone sour in his household. Nights spent sharing candies with them, picking out his favorites from the store- ones that were no longer in production. He remembered afternoons in the schoolyard where he’d trade his favorites with his young friends, each heatedly debating about why the one they brought was far superior to the other suggestions. In a moment of piercing clarity, Robert saw it all. The remnants of a youth he’d lost due to growing up too fast. Some childhood he could barely remember amongst all the hours of work he did, a family that separated when he was small and how he’d grown cold to try and cope with it. And subsequently, he’d banished all the sweets from his life, viewing them only as distractions from his work, threats to his livelihood. But now he knew that wasn’t how it had to be.

Banishing the pleasures from his life to focus on work wasn’t a way of living. It was just a way of surviving. And indeed Bob was no longer in a position where he needed only to survive. He could afford the occasional expense to make himself happy. He could afford to start living again, to start feeling things now. Easier said than done he supposed. A lifetime of turning off his emotions had left him a husk with only his practiced auras and emotions to show for it. And that was good and fine for others, but he failed to see what benefit it now held for himself. What was the purpose of hiding his apathy beneath a thin veil such as that? There wasn’t. And as Bob sat back in his chair chewing on his chocolate, caramel, and nougat delight, he couldn’t help but wonder what other things he’d been missing out on. And what he could do to experience it and make sure he never missed it again?

It was so silly to think that a bit of candy could cause Bob to ask himself what he had done with his life- what he would do with it. Just as crazy as it would sound if he said it had also given him the answer: to start living it.

Powered by Tumblr. Theme by Reggie.


	11. Costumes (The Noir)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Noir decided to dress up for Halloween.

The couple had made a tradition of wearing matching couple costumes every year for Halloween. While they felt that they were far too old to take part in the practice of trick-or-treating, they certainly found some joy in the holiday. Business was slow, which left them plenty of time to decorate and search for the perfect pair of outfits. One year’s had been ketchup and mustard, another year’s theme had been peanut butter and jelly. Last year, they’d dressed up as Bane and Poison Ivy. This year, they were going in with less of a plotted idea and more of a hope that they would find the perfect outfits along the way with a bit of research. They would take turns in their quest, one sitting at the table on the laptop, scrolling through a never-ending list of websites for the perfect match while the other tended to the house chores. Occasionally, they would walk by and ask about the progress being made in their valiant efforts, before switching off to see if the other might have better luck.

“It seems they’re terribly short of couple costumes this year, aren’t they?” Richard leaned over his girlfriend’s shoulder, examining the screen. All of the outfits provided were either too dull for their tastes or something they’d already done.

“Well not only that but Richie, I think we’ve done just about all of these at some point.” Eva leaned back, sighing in frustration at it all. “There’s just nothing new out there for us to try.”

The man hummed in thought. He supposed Eva had a point. New costumes wouldn’t be made if companies could still make a good profit with what they already had. And they had plenty of choices already. It was foolish to rely on manufacturers to come up with something new lest they risk messing the formula too much and end up bleeding money. But that did give Richard an idea. “Then why don’t we just make our own?”

“Make our own?” Eva looked back at him.

“Yes- we’re a clever pair of doves, I’m sure we could come up with our own idea. Then all it would take is a few materials and a bit of our own flare to make it work. I think we could do it, don’t you, poppet?”

The lady pondered on the idea for several moments. It did have some merit. Crafting their own costumes could make for some rather well-needed bonding time between the two. They could decorate and design their costumes however they liked, and they’d do it together. Overall, the idea did seem rather nice. Bursting out in a grin, the woman nodded. “Alright, yeah! I think we could pull it off! Great idea, baby!”

She leaned up, briefly nuzzling her nose against her lover’s. The two snickered amongst themselves before she pulled back, reeling with another question. “But what kind of outfits should we make then?”

“Interesting question,” he sat back and straightened up, crossing his arms over his chest. “Well, darling, I had the idea of an angel and demon sort of thing. Opposites attract, or something of that ilk I suppose. What do you think?”

“I think that’s a great idea, Rich,” her words were accompanied by a suggestive wink. “I’m guessing you’ll be the angel and I’ll be the devil?”

“I wouldn’t want it any other way~” the man purred, leaning forward to tempt his partner with a kiss. She gave into it easily, pressing her hands against his chest and letting their mouth lips linger against each other’s for a moment before pulling away.

“Let’s get on it then!”

Within a few hours, the two had drafted up some shakily drawn concepts of what they wanted their outfits to be like and listed off all the materials they would need. Building something from hand was nothing new for them. They’d done many DIY projects when they first moved in together, their first house needing plenty of tender love and care to be in working order. Since then, they’d never fallen out of love with the idea of creating things together. Birdhouses, fencing, toys and cradles. This would just be another page in their scrapbook.

It took them a few days to find everything they were looking for. Many costume shops had traded out individual supplies for whole pieces of clothing, but many still kept their original inventory in storage. With every round-town trip they made, their costumes became more and more complete. Piece by piece, section by section, it all came together. Finally, just two weeks after they’d started their little endeavor, they were done. The last stitches were in place and the outfits were comfort-tested and approved by both of them. All that was left to do was change into them. Eva lingered in the bathroom, Richard lingered in the walk-in closet.

“On three, we’ll both step out and show each other, alright?”

“Agreed.”

A beat passed.

“One.”

“Two…”

“Three!” The both of them declared, opening the doors and briskly stepping out to face each other. Both were taken aback by what they saw.

Richard wore a crisp white long-sleeved shirt rolled up to his elbows, a white vest, and a blue bow tie. His vest was embroidered with gold thread, patterns following the body of his costume down his legs and onto his pants, all the way down to polished pale grey dress shoes. From his back sprouted a pair of wings; thin plastic beams were covered by a thick white down of feathers, edges shimmering gold in the light. A halo of tinsel hung above his head, glittering in the light as he gazed upon his girlfriend.

Eva had taken part of a playboy bunny costume and added lacy trimming to the black material, accompanying it with a bow tie, a long-tailed cape, and knee-high red boots with heels. Red gloves covered her dainty fingers as she adjust another bow tie around her neck and the devil horns on her head. Similar to Richard, she head a pair of demon wings at her back, plastic tubing hidden beneath thin sheaths of faux-leather to create bony outlines and texture, and rather than wear a halo like her charming angel, she attached a devil tail to the back portion of her outfit.

The two took a moment to circle each other and admire their and their partner’s handiwork. Coy grins and flirtatious looks were sent between them the entire time.

“I have to say,” Eva cooed, “for a first attempt, we aren’t bad.~”

“Oh yes, my dear,” Richard came forward, pulling Eva towards him by the waist, “not bad at all.~”


	12. Gore (The Executioner)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The root of Joseph's sadistically homicidal tendencies is explored.

The sight of blood and guts was a regular thing for Joe. He was unbothered by it, unabashed by the sights and sounds. Rather than elicit feelings of terror that made him squirm in discomfort, the prospect of inflicting great pain in another individual brought manic smiles to the Executioner’s face. The idea that others could and would suffer in his presence, die by his hand for an audience willing to pay to watch him commit his crimes was something so satisfying to his sick self. People were just canvases, he thought. Canvases that sought to be painted using one color. One lovely, simple color. A primary color that, on its own, could mean a million different things. People were blank slates that needed to be covered in it to be understood. And Joe had all the tools to do so.

Viscera and power tools were a perfect combination for making art and producing music; wails of people damned to undergo the horrors of his torture completely awake and aware of the situation, screaming into a room where no one could hear their agonized shrieks, their pitiful cries for mercy. Bearing witness to their own innards being exposed to air in a way they were never meant to, struggling against bonds that fused them to their seat, dug into wrists and ankles and furthered the spillage of precious crimson. Every twitch and whimper made Joe giggle with delight as he continued to mutilate their bodies, disfiguring them until he deemed them a satisfactory work of art before finally ending their misery and finishing the job.

But the joy did not last. It never did.

As soon as the camera stopped rolling and the red room was left abandoned for a month, the smile fell from Joseph’s face. Hands that twitched from excitement as blood coated them would fall to his sides, clean and still. The delightfully eager expression that he wore beneath a blood-smeared mask would fade, pupils contracting back to their normal sizes with one being slightly bigger than the other. The man would walk away from it all as apathetic and numb as though it had never happened. As though his acts of violence had never transpired and not a damn thing had happened within the walls of his cruel courtroom, prison, and execution chamber. Senseless murder was put on pause until the next shipment of cattle had arrived to be butchered by his hands, by his cutlery.

Many had wondered if there was a purpose behind the things Joe did. Did he do it purely for pleasure? Did he do it to alleviate some itch? Did he do it just for the money? Did he do it for some sense of cosmic justice based on the demographics of his victims? Questions floated about; questions without answers, as the Executioner never seemed keen on explaining himself or his work outside of the hours it happened with anyone. Loose lips sank ships after all. But there was a purpose behind what he did. He’d never tell a living soul, but there was a reason behind his intentions to paint the world red so that others might see it as he did.

Hours of staring into the darkness of a basement, cold, alone, and afraid, waiting for the shadows behind closed doors to snuff out the light in the cracks and unleash to him an onslaught of pain and terror of which he’d never known before, the little crimson droplet staining his tiny fingers. How it smeared across the ground as he crawled away from each beating to fix himself, to put himself back together and scrounge, haunted even in his sleep and awaiting the next moment he was lost in an inescapable flood of crimson. Running down his lip, spilling down his chin, staining his little fingertips. It was the only thing he could see in the little flickers of light he could catch between blackouts and blacks and blues.

The world had trapped him in an endless cycle of colors that all led back to red in the end. It was all the masked man could see, all he could focus on, all he could rely on in the end. It had done cruel things to him, warped his mind to depend on that color as much as he avoided it for the pain he associated it with. He loved it. He hated it. He revered it. He feared. It was his tool and his bane. It was something he used to make the world see what he saw, feel as he felt. It wasn’t fair that so many people that did such horrible, evil things didn’t have to deal with a single moment of what he had endured for nine years as an innocent child. It wasn’t fair that the world did not know suffering as he did. But he sought to change that. The world had been a cold, cruel and unforgiving place only to him and that would not do. Joseph wanted the whole world to feel the unbearable weight of the pain just as he had. Every cut, scrape, bruise, and bite. And he wanted others to feel as helpless to it as he did, to suffer what he suffered. And when that wasn’t happening, there was no other point.

Perhaps the inside of his head only held this fragmented perspective because of how unstable he was inside. Lack of treatment, lack of focus, lack of compassion had culminated into something could and that manifestation now held a brutally strong body with which to carry out its malicious desires. Joseph should not have been allowed such resources and such power. Vengeful creature that he was, it endangered him and everyone around him. But attempting to impede him was equally as fruitless, the world seemed passive at best about the oncoming retribution in which he offered to it. A mad man, a sad man, a deranged and sadistic person was running amuck with the intent to maim and to kill.

Truly, gore was nothing more than an escape for him. It was his way of reminding the world that he would never forget what it had done to him.


	13. Fear (Larry)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Larry has always been an anxious and rather paranoid person, but he's never felt a terror that has gripped him quite like this.

There was always shame in his voice when Larry admitted he was scared of things. A grown man well past middle age and he still feared things that could e considered trivial and childish— at least if the remarks he’d received on his terrors were anything to go by. The darkness, red lights in the darkness, small dogs with sharp teeth and big ears. Indeed his paranoia seemed to make the whole world seem like a truly terrifying place and Lawrence found no pleasure in going about his day spending his every waking moment wondering what could go wrong. The idea that it was never a matter of if but only a matter of when paralyzed the innocent man with fear. Fear to step out of line in any way, fear to stand up for himself or what he believed. An existence ruled by terror was no way to live, he thought. But in the end, he also found himself rather complacent in his predicament and indeed too scared to step out of his comfort zone much more than he so desperately had to.

The patterns which ruled his life were something of an enigma to him, but their familiarity offered him a type of comfort seemingly nothing else could. He sought refuge in walking the same routes, eating the same meals, and doing the same things he always did. If he never tried, he would never fail. He never had to worry about something going wrong when everything was already so routine to him that he could never forget what he was doing or lose sight of the predetermined goals he’d been so heavily reliant on for the past forty-three years of his life. Though his fear was his prison, the bars in which it kept him were something of a cruel safe haven. Fed, clothed, and always out of danger so long as he minded his own business, he felt that the drawbacks of it were well worth all the trouble it saved him.

But his paranoia could only keep him so vigilant. His naturally heightened anxiety could only act as such a defender. Larry quickly learned that what was meant to keep him in was not something that would keep everything else out. The world had a way of caving in ceilings and bursting through walls, no matter how thick and impenetrable they seemed. It held in it some truly cruel and terrifying forces that took great pleasure in scaring those that, like him, thought their vigilance would be the only ally they ever needed. Fear, of perhaps the hubris of having so much confidence in his self-preservation instinct, was his downfall and nowhere was this more apparent than now. Miles from home and trapped in a dark, decrepit room full of junk, reeking of blood, and holding the bare minimum of comfort that could be found in a dirty mattress marked with the smeared bloody handprints of his predecessors, Lawrence was curled into a ball and sobbing to himself. Where had his instincts been when all this went down? What happened to the comfort and safety routine? Avoiding trouble through his fears had failed him, and Larry was more terrified now than he had ever been before in his entire life,

Around him, the screams of others who had so foolishly held this similar mindset echoed down sprawling hallways. The sound of power tools scraped the insides of his skull and drowned out the sounds of his whimpers and racing pulse. The whistling of a passing maniac and the struggles of people trying to run away and failing as they were pulled off to whatever cruel operation lied at the heart of this hellish complex. The wails of the damned filled his very soul and all Larry could think of was his friends, his grandmother, his cat who he had left behind. Who he had failed with his foolishness. Himself, who he had failed with his foolishness. He wept, hands pressing into his eyes until the backs of them ached, praying that he would wake up crying from another horrifying nightmare and sob for a bit, before drying his eyes and going about his normal, mundane routines once more. But no matter how he pinched and punched and slapped himself, Lawrence could not force himself to wake up. This was no dream, he concluded, but cruel reality. And at that, he began to sob harder.

How humiliating it was to think that a lack of action had brought him his doom. He was too cowardly to change things for himself and too cowardly not to be a coward. And fate had decided that all his opportunities had been squandered. He had no one but himself to blame really. The fear he thought would protect him has been turned into a weapon used against him. And with that very weapon, he would be slain. He would die as scared as he was born and with nothing to show for. This would be the end for him.

No, he thought, raising his head from his knees and looking towards the door from his bed. No, this is not how it would end. If there was one thing he would not take lying down in his life it would be his death. He had been a doormat for far too many things, he had stayed complacent for so long, but at least now, it would do him good to struggle at least a bit. That way, when they found his corpse and identified his body, he would die with the satisfaction of knowing that they wouldn’t be able to write that he didn’t put up a fight on his tombstone. Hell, maybe if he struggled and fought back, he might actually survive this. Wishful thinking but he would try nonetheless. Grabbing a chair and quietly pushing it over to a vent, he opened it and crawled in, hellbent on making some sort of attempt to escape this place or at least find a weapon to defend himself with. Fear had ruled him for the majority of his existence, and that had all been fine and dandy when he was blissfully oblivious of the repercussions it would have. Now, the ramifications had made themselves known and Larry was determined to at least go down swinging. Fear had been his life.

But it would not be his death.


	14. Pranks (The Red Room Team)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's no such thing as 'just a prank' or 'a prank fight'. In this house, it's a prank war.

When things got slow around the house, it wasn’t particularly uncommon for Michael and Joseph to get bored. Joseph’s red room was only active every other month, leaving him with a rather large grace period of nothing to do and nowhere to go. Rare as his own breaks were, Michael found that there was not much to enjoy when he wasn’t out struggling to scrape by and make a living for himself. The two functioned off of consistent stimulation that tended to occupy all of their attention spans at all times. Suffice to say, boredom was dangerous when it was coming from them, as it often meant that their level of necessary stimulation wasn’t being met and they would get antsy as a result. Antsy meant active. Where they could not find entertainment they would create it. And often, that had mischievous implications.

The two were seasoned veterans in the art of pranking. They knew each other too well. Paired with their overwhelming creativity, determination, and naturally vengeful natures, the two were a force to be reckoned with. A simple joke could easily be the catalyst for an all-out war. No part of their house was safe. At any moment, a rigged setup could go off and anyone could be caught in the line of Fire. Even poor Dmitry. So often, the innocent bystander would fall victim to the cruel mischief of his companions and upon investigation from the source of his misery, he would gaze upon them with a look of bewilderment, disappointment, and sadness. Truly, there was no respite from the madness of his companions at times.

This time, things were different.

Rather than stand as mere collateral damage to the crossfire, Dmitry found himself at the mercy of a great and powerful combined force. The two sworn enemies of the battlefield had agreed to set aside their differences and dedicate their full attention and effort to one hapless target. The gentle giant himself. Their approaches were methodical. Hunters studying and carefully approaching their prey. The innocent witness left to attest for himself and whatever hellish traps they’d set in place waiting to be triggered by him. Dmitry was none the wiser.

The first blood had been drawn when Dmitry had gone to the kitchen one day in search of some freshly baked cookies he’d made. Upon opening the jar, he received a face full of powdered sugar. A spring trap had been rigged to release the cloud upon the removal of the jar’s lid. The Russian was quick to wash himself off and stalked away, grumbling about how they’d started yet another war with each other, still clueless to their true intentions. The declaration had been delivered, but it was still not received.

For their second act, they’d decided to announce their departure from the house. As per usual, Dmitry bid them a good day and gave them his kind blessing as they crept out the front door. They would not go far, however. Joseph had left a remote stereo system right on the kitchen counter when he wasn’t looking and the two had snuck right over to the window, peering in. Dmitry’s back was turned, fiddling with the oven and pulling out a hot tray, they decided to strike. Suddenly and without warning, a terrifyingly loud bass sound blared from the speaker. All of Joseph’s cats, which had been gathering around the man at the scent of something edible, jumped and scattered. Dmitry jolted so hard that he dropped the hot pan. Cinnamon rolls tumbled to the ground and he scorched his arm on the hot metal, before slipping on some icing and falling to the ground. His stunned visage showed he was still in shock, not fully processing what had just happened, but in quite a bit of pain nonetheless. The two ducked down and shared a snicker between themselves. That was good… but it was still not enough!

For their third and final act, the duo came up with something truly mind-boggling. A recent purchase from the local pet shop had granted them the custody of several soft, fluffy rabbits. The gentle creatures hopped about within their carrier, noses wiggling as Joseph offered them bountiful affection. Once the creatures were rightfully soothed in their new environment, the plan was put into motion. Once again, they waited until Dmitry’s back was turned, attention thoroughly occupied with something on the stove, before moving into action. The rabbits were silently released and allowed to move around the kitchen floor. Joseph and Michael snuck away, peering around the edges of the doorway in anticipation of Dmitry’s response. One of the gentle creatures moved closer and closer, sniffing at Dmitry’s leg. The movement caused the man to smile and look down, expecting to see one of the Executioner’s cats staring back at him. To his chagrin, that was not the case.

Upon realizing that it was a doe-eyed floppy-eared wiggly-nosed little bunny staring back at him, the man immediately jumped up onto the countertop and shouted in horror. He called for the others immediately, spooked by the mere sight of the little critter before him. The two could hold it in no longer. They fell to the floor from their hiding places, gripped by uncontrolled laughter and a sense of triumphant victory. The rabbits, which had all startled at the shriek, loped back over to the familiar faces of the others, seeking their comfort. Dmitry slowly lowered himself back to the ground, scowling at his friends.

“You should have seen the look on your face! It was priceless!” Mike sat up momentarily, tears spilling from his eyes.

“Now that was a Kodak moment!” The Executioner snickered, gathering buns in his lap and gently petting over all of them to soothe them once more. Dmitry made a sour face, glancing between his friends and their new companions.

“Very funny,” he crossed his arms. “Now what are you going to do with those rabbits?”

The two’s laughter quickly dissipated and they looked between each other, swallowing. Oh yes, the rabbits. Of course…

Perhaps they hadn’t thought this prank through.


	15. Sweather Weather (Lucas and the Doll Maker)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucas has a habit of stealing Ernst's turtlenecks. Not that he minds.
> 
> (Written using a friend's interpretation of the Dollmaker)

With every passing day, the air grew colder and crisper. The wind picked up and brought with it a bitter chill that nipped at the nose, the cheeks, and the fingers. It was bearable in the sunshine, the warm rays staving off the bitter winds and making them feel more like a welcome breeze to those spending the dwindling season still outside working. It felt like Fall had just begun not even a few days ago, and yet winter would soon be here. Lucas could feel the excitement of it in his bones, his favorite season just on the horizon, yet still so far away. He couldn’t wait to go out and run through the snow, catch snowflakes on his tongue, build snowmen and have snowball fights, curl up by a fireplace with a warm drink in hand and watch movies. Ah— but that was still some time away. He still had quite a wait ahead of him before there was any winter wonderland prancing to be done. Still, the weather’s shift was something to be addressed and it seemed Lucas knew just the way to go about it.

Pressing his nose into the fabric on the oversized collar of the shirt, he inhaled deeply and sighed with a smile. The comforting familiarity of the scent that clung to the threads was something remarkable to him and he purred as he sank into a turtleneck that was much too big for him to be wearing. He flopped onto his side on the couch, face halfway burrowed into the article of clothing and a cheeky grin overtaking his face. Banal gratitudes rumbled in Polish and Spanish rolled off his tongue in smoky tones, praising the man he’d stolen the clothing from as he took another breath of the scent still on the fibers. It was faintly sweet beneath the pungency of disinfectants. Something vintage and almost nostalgic. A feeling of safety, a feeling of home.

“Ah, there you are, _pfirsiche_. I was wondering where that jumper went.” The Dollmaker had grown rather accustomed to the thieving hands of his partner. The collection of sweaters in his closet had begun to dwindle over time and he was certain that it was not because of his own increased use of such articles. It only took a few different sightings of Lucas in wear that was ridiculously large for his small, short self for Ernst to make the connection— though truthfully it was hardly necessary. Lucas was the only other person in the house and to his knowledge, none of his dogs knew how to steal clothes (and thankfully so, otherwise the German was certain his wardrobe would have been even smaller than it already was).

Taking a seat next to the hitman curled into a ball on the sofa, the elder smiled at the sight of his clothing hanging so heavily and so loosely off of the other man’s frame. Frankly, he found it rather adorable how tangled Lucas could become in the fabric. The way it hung down and dangled far beyond his arms, covering his wrists. When he tried rolling them up, they’d roll right back down and obscure his gentle little fingers. The way he pulled up the collar over his nose and left only those sweet brown eyes visible, staring up at Ernst with a type of soft fondness he’d never seen anyone regard him with before. Despite all that he knew about Lucas and his profession, it was difficult to see the assassin as anything but an adorable, sweet little thing at times. A chuckle reverberated within his chest at the prospect and he reached over, gathering the half-Cuban in his strong arms and effectively cradling him. The man didn’t resist, he only wriggled a slight to make it a bit easier and giggled gleefully in response.

“You are quite the little thief now, aren’t you, pfirsiche?” The large man leaned in, nuzzling his nose against his partner’s covered one before frowning and tugging the material down. Lucas playfully scoffed and turned away.

“Me? A thief? Where would you ever get such an idea?” He cocked his head back, grinning. The elder spared him a coy look and took a gentle hold on the man’s collar, tugging him closer again.

“You aren’t exactly the best at hiding the evidence.” He released the shirt only when the other man finally relented and rested his forehead against his own. The Pole pouted a bit at the statement.

“I thought you liked seeing the evidence,” he teased, tugging down the shirt collar just enough to reveal several reddish brown marks tinged with purple left on his collarbone from the Dollmaker’s teeth. The display caused a devilish smirk to cross Ernst’s face as he admired his handiwork. The remains of some other night they’d spent together to celebrate one or the other’s completion of a job well done.

“It is rather a good look for you—“ The defense caused the smaller man to chuckle once more as he rolled the collar back up and rested his arms over his partner’s shoulders, making himself comfortable in Ernst’s lap and tucking his head under the giant’s chin. There were no complaints from the other at his actions. “I suppose I could let it slide.”

“You’ve been letting it slide for a while then.” The hitman purred, taking a grip on the shirt his lover currently had on and sniffing at it. Ernst must not have started working on any new projects yet. It didn’t offend his sense of smell like some of his other “work outfits” did.

“Believe me, peaches, I’m well aware. My wardrobe can only get so small before I begin to notice things are out of place. Or missing, in this case.” He craned his neck to spy at the little man tucked against him, raising a finger to lightly tap the unsuspecting male on the nose. In response, Lucas wrinkled his nose a bit, drawing back a bit with a soft noise and shaking his head. A light scratch under his chin settled him back down against the surgeon’s chest once more.

“Damn, and I thought I was doing such a good job at covering that up at the very least.” He mumbled, growing drowsy from the immense warmth that surrounded him when Ernst wrapped his arms around his tiny man.

“Oh, but you were. I probably wouldn’t have noticed up until very recently, but it seems you’ve had this effect on me that makes me a bit more attentive towards the finer details. Outside of work I mean.” A soft huff. “I suppose it’s become a necessary adaptation so that you can’t get away with your reckless behavior, hmm?”

“I wouldn’t say that, Ernie.” The assassin finally reared back from where he was laying comfortably against the gentle giant and smirked. “After all, just because you noticed me stealing the sweaters doesn’t mean you did anything to stop me.”

“Oh, well, of course!” The German abruptly leaned forward, stealing a kiss from his partner’s lips and the smirk from Lucas’ quickly reddening face. “I don’t see any harm in the occasional nicked fleece. I quite encourage it actually. I quite like the way you look in my clothing.”

He raised his head proudly as Lucas sank back, embarrassed and flustered. “How humble.”

The comment, as well as Lucas’ appearance, drew the Dollmaker back a bit from his ego. He leaned down to nuzzle the peach fuzz of his man’s cheek, warbling in his ear. “And anyhow, I wouldn’t want you to be cold. This time of year always does call for sweater weather.”

Knowing Ernst cared seemed to warm the Pole up a bit inside and draw him out of the collar once more for a gratuitous kiss. That answered seemed to satisfy him a lot more.


	16. Witches (Lydia)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adam called for a meeting at the worst possible time. Lydia talks some sense into him.

The season brought with it a bountiful collection of pop icons and costumed geeks everywhere Lydia seemed to look. Cheap decorations, sugary processed foods, and only mildly vibrant parties seemed to span across the entirety of New York. Adam’s offices were no different. The staff had picked up spooky attire, though they always vanished around midnight, leaving a collection of gaudy bats and pumpkins in their wake as they retreated upstairs to their employer’s office, awaiting their next bounty of directions.

Deciding to go along with the less-than-appealing garb, Lydia walked into the ornate office in a witch costume and took her seat on the couch to the right of Adam’s desk. Listening to him drone on about upcoming events and opportunities to capture potential prey for the show nearly put her to sleep. Keeping herself occupied with looking around only did so much to amuse her. While her boss talked aimlessly to the two Noir dressed up as an angel and a demon— nodding occasionally to show they were still listening to their bosses ceaseless dry rambling, Lydia spied on the other occupants.

Across from her, the Breather seemed to be struggling just as much to stay awake. He wasn’t wearing a costume, yet he insisted he was— he was dressed up as a serial killer. The cops were certainly buying it. They tended to be a lot laxer this time of year, meaning crime was so much easier to get away with. His current agenda consisted of him falling asleep while standing up for several minutes at a time, only to catch himself dozing and snap awake. It was honestly rather intriguing to see how easily he was able to tune out his employer and just dawdle like that without the need to sit down.

Not too far away from him, Lucas was leaning against the wall. Out of all of them, she was really expecting him to be the one to miss out on the costume portion. But she was wrong. Trading in his suit for a cape, some elegant attire, and a pair of fangs, the man was dressed as a vampire for the occasion. Though beyond the fitting outfit, he seemed generally uninterested in anything else about his current situation save for the plate of cookies he’d swiped from downstairs. Unlike Michael, he was full of energy. He kept bouncing his leg, checking his watch, and glancing towards the door, eager for this meeting to be over. He had places to be and people to meet it seemed. Lydia scoffed and rolled her eyes, knowing exactly what his one-track mind was focusing on.

“Mind passing those around?” She called out to the hitman. Wordlessly, he glanced at her, the plate on his hand, and silently slipped over to her. Stealing a last one from the plate, he handed it over before heading back to stand near Mike again.

“Hey, Adam,” she piped up finally, catching the man’s attention. “You called us all to this emergency meeting, and so far, you’ve only really been talking to two out of five of us.”

“I wouldn’t even say that many.” The Breather yawned, raising his head. “I can’t really tell by their faces, but I think the Noir have processed about as much of what you’ve said at the rest of us.”

“Nonsense! Eva and I have been paying incredibly close attention to everything Adam has said. We have a little thing called respect, isn’t that right, dear?” The large cult member nudged at his girlfriend who was currently wrapped around his arm, resting her head on his shoulder. She didn’t answer at first and Richard shook at her lightly again.

“I’m up—“ she jerked her head upwards suddenly, a groggy voice escaping the mask. “I’m listening…!”

Upon realizing Michael’s words to be fact, Adam groaned in frustration, glancing to the witch in his office. “What’s your point?”

“My point is, there’s no reason for us to be here, Adam. It’s Halloween. Everyone’s going to be out partying or looking for candy, or between their couch and their front door to hand out the candy. Why are we here?”

At that, there were several more mumbled complaints from the others around Lydia. Everyone except Lucas (who compensated for his lack of speech with a stern expression instead) spoke up about the poorly conceived idea of calling for a meeting just before such a big holiday event. Adam glanced between them all, knowing full well that he was beat in terms of voice and spoke up to regain some sort of order over his workers.

“Alright— I get it. Maybe it was a little… foolish of me to call for this meeting. There’s no point, I guess.” He sighed, disappointed and less than pleased that he was being forced to swallow his pride and admit that he was wrong. “You’re all dismissed. We’ll meet back in November after all this costume business has cleared up, alright?”

There a rumble of satisfaction as everyone began to file out of the office. Lucas held the door open, allowing the tired couple and serial killer to step out before him and sparing Lydia a glanced before departing himself. It was just her and her boss now.

“Ooh, you don’t look happy.” She chimed, pouring herself a small glass of wine.

“Did you really have to make me look like an idiot like that?” He sneered, latching onto his vape in an attempt to soothe himself a slight.

“I didn’t make you look like anything, Adam,” the woman slowly rose to her feet, smoothing out her dress and downing her drink before setting the glass back down on its tray. “You did that all on your own.”

Making her way over to the door, she didn’t bother to spare him another glance until he called out to her, bewildered by her actions just as much as he was annoyed. “Where are you off to now?”

“If you’ll excuse me, this bad witch has got a date, Adam.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this drabble!


End file.
